


Tony Does the Avengers

by Mornelithe_falconsbane



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Cheating, Multi, Victim Blaming, alcohol fueled dub-con, and thus cheating on Pepper, by cheating I mean everyone acts like tony's willing, did I say dub con? I meant rape, including Pepper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 08:23:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20306422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mornelithe_falconsbane/pseuds/Mornelithe_falconsbane
Summary: The party is a crap shoot of stupidity. Politicians, idiots and thieves, and more booze than the average liquor store sells in a year. By the time the Avengers are allowed to leave, they’re pissed in both senses of the word and really goddamn annoyed with Tony. It’s four in the morning, and he’s so drunk that they have to pour him into the limo like he’s a goddamn drink in a tuxedo; and if he hadn’t touched, brushed, or rubbed up against every person in the ballroom, it wasn’t for lack of trying.





	Tony Does the Avengers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [labocat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/labocat/gifts), [lucymonster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucymonster/gifts).

The party is a crap shoot of stupidity. Politicians, idiots and thieves, and more booze than the average liquor store sells in a year. By the time the Avengers are allowed to leave, they’re pissed in both senses of the word and really goddamn annoyed with Tony. It’s four in the morning, and he’s so drunk that they have to pour him into the limo like he’s a goddamn drink in a tuxedo; and if he hadn’t touched, brushed, or rubbed up against every person in the ballroom, it wasn’t for lack of trying.  
  
**Clint**  
  
The door closes and Tony crawls out of his seat, wobbling dangerously, and sprawls over Clint's lap. He starts nuzzling his neck, and Clint is drunk enough to kind of be okay with it. “Tony--” he protests, mostly for show, looking up to take in the other’s reactions.  
  
Tony’s stubble rasps over Clint’s neck, and the heat of his mouth seeps through the thin collar of Clint’s shirt. “Clliiiiint,” he breaths, then giggles.  
  
Natasha flicks her gaze over Tony, more disdainful than any of the gaggles of trophy wives they’d just left in the museum. She’s the only one who notices that Tony’s hands are exploring under Clint’s suit jacket. It displeases her--Clint’s not surprised, Natasha is damn possessive--and she grabs Tony by the hair to pull him back into his seat.  
  
Tony falls back into her lap, his legs splayed out like a cheap slut in an expensive suit, feet tangled somewhere around Clint’s hips. Thor and Bruce and Steve are looking now, their attention drawn by Natasha’s move, and everyone could see that Tony was hard--like, a Mt. Fuji tent in Tony's pants kind of hard, standing proudly in defiance of how drunk Tony should be.  
  
Clint starts laughing, because congratulations to Tony, he’s actually succeed in making the night worse. Everyone else joins in because when shit is that awkward, that's what you do.

* * *

_ Tony grins, too drunk to understand why they're laughing, just dumb happiness in other people’s laughter. The inside of the limo looks blurred and strange--his eyes aren’t working quite right. He tries to sit up, but he can’t coordinate himself.  
  
_

* * *

**Steve**  
  
Steve's not drunk, his body burning off the alcohol before it has the chance to affect him. He watches Natasha brush her fingers over Tony's lips, and Tony sucks them in like they're coated in candy. He looks away and shifts uncomfortably, the only sober guy in a car filled with hot, bored, annoyed, and drunk people.  
  
Steve says nothing, even though he should. Tony is drunk as a skunk and should be in bed sleeping it off, but Steve is unwilling to break the silence and start another argument. Natasha has blood in her eye, spoiling for a fight, and he’s not going to give it to her.

* * *

_ Tony can sense, dimly, that he’s gathered the entire car’s attention to some degree. He’s not certain why. He hasn’t been this drunk since his teens. He’d overdone it out of boredom, drinking because there was fuck-all to do and Fury had made damn sure that none of them could leave._  
  
_ He hopes, even as his vision wavers, blurring the other’s faces, that they won’t think too harshly of him for over-indulging._  
  
_ The fingers taste like salt, the fingernails lacquered and slick against his tongue. Tony’s not sure why they’re in his mouth. He doesn’t think they’re his.  
  
_

* * *

**Bruce**  
  
Bruce tries to ignore them, reading on his phone because he might Hulk out if Tony 'accidentally' touches him again, but he smells this hot mix of sweat and lust and irritation, filling the limo like the ocean fills a sinking boat. It sets something seething under his skin. Something that isn’t him.  
  
Tony--Bruce glances up from his phone to see Tony suckling on Natasha fingers, a meditative look on his face. His cock is standing at attention like Steve during the singing of the national anthem, clearly visible through his overly expensive clothes. It’s so inappropriate and so typically Tony that Bruce is tempted to throw his phone at him.  
  
He doesn’t. There have been enough fights tonight, and The Other Guy is so close to the surface that Bruce can feel his bones thickening in preparation. Bruce closes his eyes, and thinks about punching Tony.  
  
"God Tony, you're a slut," Natasha says, an idle observation that Tony smiles at, faintly bewildered but still happy. He sucks on her fingers, a sliver of pink tongue flickering between two of them, and he has the audacity to look surprised when she grabs him by the neck and pulls him down.  
  
"Pretty Widow," he says, slurred and affectionate, like he’s trying to pacify her.  
  
The Other Guy shifts under Bruce’s skin, a half-there presence that forces his eyes to stay firmly on Tony.

* * *

_ Slut. Tony’s having trouble with that one. The name stings a bit, but he’s pretty sure Natasha’s joking. She knows as well as anyone that he’s faithful to Pepper. Her jokes strike a little too close to home sometimes, but Tony has a tendency to fire bomb people’s houses with his jokes, so he tries not to hold it against her._  
  
_ “Pretty Widow,” he murmurs, thinking of spiders. Natasha is nothing like her code name._  
  
_ The fingers were gone. Turned out that they’d been Natasha’s--funny. Tony had thought they were Pepper’s for some reason. Tony still didn’t know how they’d gotten in his mouth._  
_  
_

* * *

**Thor**  
  
Thor isn’t certain what’s happening. Jane had explained that sex was a private thing for humans, yet he would be prepared to swear an oath that preparations to have sex are happening in front of him.  
  
He holds his tongue. Perhaps he has become a part of the others’ definition of private. It is difficult to know these things.  
  
Thor watches and waits.

* * *

_ Tony’s numb. It’s the weirdest thing. He feels a hand on his thigh, but it’s not sensation so much as it is a pressure measurement, his nerves registering the weight but not the sensation. He wonders if he’d actually drunk so much that he’d turned off his texture sensors. Had his system shut down non-essential functions to save on computing resources?_  
  
_ Was that even a thing in biology? He’d have to ask Bruce when he sobered up.  
  
_

* * *

**Natasha**  
  
Natasha knows herself to be much like a cat with a mouse, searching for vulnerabilities and attacking them on instinct. It is a quality that serves her well, professionally.  
  
Tony never considers vital matters like reaction time unless he’s wiring it into a machine. He has chosen to make himself weak and vulnerable, so drunk that his eyes cannot focus, so drunk that he cannot walk unassisted, and so drunk that he cannot hold himself upright while sitting.  
  
He has no idea how dangerous it is to be unawares. It frustrates Natasha. How will he be safe if he does not keep his wits?  
  
Natasha has made a career out of being discreet, so when she shoves Tony off her lap and onto the floor between the two rows of seats, everyone notices that it gives Tony a great view up her skirt, but no one realizes that she did that on purpose.  
  
There’s a second--a long second--where Tony looks baffled. His eyes are heavy, and his face soft and obscenely drunk. She does not know that this is a good idea.  
  
Clint and Thor are watching, not doing anything to stop her, and Natasha decides. She spreads her knees and drags Tony closer, ignoring his moment of hesitation, his look of surprise. He had to know that you did not flirt like that and not get taken up on it.  
  
He looks up at her and squints, his brow furrowed. “‘Tasha,” he murmurs, rubbing his cheek against her inner knee, his stubble rough and prickling.  
  
Heat floods though her belly, and Natasha grins. Steve’s half-voiced protest dies in his mouth when she wraps her hands around Tony’s head and drags him closer.  
  
Tony's nostrils flare and he smiles, leaning against the edge of her seat and looking between her legs like he's found alien tech up there. He slides clumsy hands up her thighs, shoving her skirt up until Bruce and Steve could see her thong if they looked up.  
  
Victory is more arousing than anything Tony could do to her.

* * *

_ Her underwear is made of glossy white lace that makes him think of spider webs when his eyes can focus enough to see it, and she smells rich and dark and sinful. Her hands hold his head steady, and Tony has nowhere else to look._  
  
_ He shouldn’t touch Natasha. Tony knows this._  
  
_ He’s not very good at resisting what’s right in front of his nose.  
  
_

* * *

Tony breathes, a shuddering breath that plays over her skin like a hand, and licks her through her underwear, tentative like she wasn't holding his head in place.  
  
He is a man, so she knows he thinks he can escape her if he wants to. She is the Black Widow, and she knows that he cannot. Natasha’s nipples tighten under the lace of her bra, and she frees a hand from Tony’s tangled hair to slide under her dress.  
  
His eyelashes droop shut and he sags against her thigh, too drunk to hold himself upright, but Tony drags her panties to the side with his teeth in an impressive display of coordination for a man so intoxicated.  
  
**Bruce**  
  
Bruce thinks that this has to be some kind of fucked up dream. He's watching Tony eat out Natasha while she slips a hand inside her dress and plays with her nipples and nobody--not Captain America, not Thor, not even Clint--nobody is saying a damn thing. They're just watching.  
  
So is he.  
  
Natasha’s thighs are spread so wide that her knees touch Clint to her right and brush against Thor to her left. The well-defined muscles in her thighs tremble and the mile-high heels on her stilettos rise off the floor. The skin between her breasts shines with sweat and she makes a noise that has Bruce painfully, shamefully hard.  
  
Tony's ass is tilted up like he's begging for it, and Bruce knows better, he does, but he wants, and Tony damn well wants too, so what’s the harm?  
  
"He'd like it if you fucked him," Natasha says, and she's talking to him, the Russian accent that all but disappeared when she was paying attention rising to the surface, rough as a vocal sin. Her hips roll up into Tony's face, and her hand is holding his head firmly in place, and Bruce couldn't help but to wonder.  
  
"How's his mouth?"  
  
**Clint**  
  
She laughs sharply, her cheeks hot and red with that heat, and Tony makes a pitiful noise of longing between her legs. “Fabulous. It is not his first time around the block.”  
  
Clint nearly laughs, because of course Tony is no blushing virgin. The man’s a slut straight down to the bone.  
  
Bruce takes too long and misses his chance. Clint slides off the leather seating onto the gleaming wooden flooring, resting his hand on Tony’s lower back, hooking his fingers under Tony’s belt.  
  
Tony’s skin is hot, nearly fevered under Clint’s hand, and his muscles are so lax that Clint’s thoughts dive straight to fucking him, to riding Tony and slamming him forward into Natasha until he could see that rush of heat and tightness strike Natasha like a whip.  
  
Clint unthreads Tony’s belt and pulls it free, eyeing it speculatively. Tony had joked about Pepper spanking him. Clint doubted that it had been true, but it was a good image, the petulant man-child laid over a knee and having his ass tanned.  
  
The first blow, he’s testing to see how Tony reacts, because Clint isn’t a monster. He’s not going to shove himself in if it turns out to be a Natasha-only kind of thing. He’ll watch, because Natasha turns exhibitionism into an artform, but he won’t intrude.  
  
Tony gasps, rocks back into the belt, pulling away from Natasha for a second before she forces his head back in between her legs.  
  
Clint grins and shoves Tony’s thousand dollar pants down to his knees, exposing his skinny white ass. He folds the belt in half, the limo too small to use the full length, and brings it down over the pink skin where he hit the first time.

* * *

_ Tony squirmed away from the sting at his back, but hands are holding him in place and his head is pinned, held between Natasha’s hands and against her pussy. He’d like this, he thinks, if he could just figure out what was going on. People talk and he hears them, but the words slip away._  
  
_ The impressive air conditioning system hits his skin full blast as he’s pantsed, and Tony considers shame for a second before he’s lashed, his skin sparking hot and cold and sensation, his nerves startled back online._  
  
_ He’s hit again, and Tony moans, his voice drowned out by Natasha’s body, and she tightens around his tongue, holding his face in place and grinding into it. He can smell her sweat, her pussy so wet that his chin is soaked, slick liquid trickling down down to his neck, drying cold and tight in the hollow between his collarbones.  
  
_

* * *

**Steve**  
  
“This isn’t right,” Steve says, but maybe it was. Things had changed. Men could be with men, women could be with women, and getting married was barely more than a formality...Steve had started smiling and nodding when people told him these kinds of things, because once he’d thought about them, they seemed right. His initial protests at the fact that it’d changed got him disappointed, disgusted looks that had made him bite his tongue. Things were different. Very different. And that was okay. “We shouldn’t--”  
  
“Prude,” Natasha says dismissively. “Tony likes it.”  
  
Tony did seem to like it. Steve couldn’t argue with that.  
  
Steve bites his lip, certain that protesting will lead to regret same way it had with all the other oddities of the future. He’s sick of being a monster for being surprised by men loving men, and women kissing women and the other strange things the future holds. The Avengers are good people. He can trust them to do what was right in this day and age.  
  
Clint snaps Tony’s belt down across his ass, laughing when Tony jerks away. Steve turns his head into the window, meets his own eyes in the reflection of the darkened glass, and does his best to pretend that his dick isn’t hard inside pants that had cost as much as his mother had made in a year.

* * *

_ Something’s up his ass. Tony would investigate, but he thinks he might fall if he moves. Natasha’s loosened her grip on his head, and he can pull back enough to slide two fingers inside her pink pussy, thinking about burying himself in there. She’s wet and hot and soft and he wants her flat on her back, those long elegant legs wrapped around his back, her slick pussy wrapped around his cock._  
  
_ He tries to move, to pull himself up, get the relevant parts closer together, but Natasha holds him in place, and another stinging slap snaps across his ass._  
  
_ Someone tells him stay, and Tony goes still.  
  
_

* * *

**Natasha**  
  
“Is this a ritual?” Thor asks, and his voice--damn but that voice makes Natasha grind into Tony’s mouth, makes her nipples peak and sends lightning coursing under her skin. “May I participate?”  
  
“Why not?” Natasha asks the world, then laughs with the perfect glee of getting her way. She’s got Tony on his knees, lapping at her clit while Clint opens up Tony’s ass with three fingers and a palm full of spit, and Thor--pretty, pretty Thor--wants in. She eyes Bruce and Steve thoughtfully, judging whether they were ready, whether she’d gotten them hot enough to agree.  
  
Bruce’s eyes were focused on her tits, but a man aroused was easily directed to any available hole. Tony’s ass was very available.  
  
Steve--Natasha smiles. Steve is watching in the reflection of the window, his hands gripping the armrest so tight that his knuckles are white. He wants. He is hers.  
  
Her skin heats, prickling with the rising ball of heat in her belly, her cunt shuddering and Tony’s tongue hitting exactly the right places at exactly the right times. “I have a proposal,” she says, addressing the room. “Let’s fuck Tony.”  
  
Clint grins at her and swings the belt so hard that Natasha has to grab Tony’s hair to yank his mouth back into place. “Works for me.”  
  
Bruce nods, slides off the edge of his seat and kneels on the ground next to Clint. His breathing and heart rate are elevated, and there’s a shimmer of green to his eyes. Natasha knows she is broken in the head, because the thought of the Hulk appearing sends her over the edge, the hair on her scalp and neck prickling with the rush of orgasm across her skin.  
  
“I am honored,” Thor says, and he unbuckles his seatbelt and edges closer, the limo rocking as he moves. He’s big, inhumanly so, and Natasha wants him. Not tonight, but she wants to explore his alien body in detail, to catalogue and record the differences. Watching him fuck Tony will be a good appetizer.  
  
“Steve?” she asks, and writhes, a second unexpected orgasm from Tony’s fingers and tongue striking her like a snake. Her fingers tremble as she undoes the side zipper on her dress, a calculated appeal to Steve’s avowed heterosexuality.  
  
Steve looks away from the window, takes in Tony’s red ass, Clint’s fingers working into Tony’s hole, and the good man in him loses.  
  
Natasha comes again, pushed over the edge by winning.

* * *

_ Tony’s legs are pushed apart, hands directing him, spreading him open so his cock swings free, and he is stretched, more being pressed into his ass before he’s ready. If he could remember how to talk he’d tell them where the lube was kept._  
  
_ Unfortunately, his mouth is busy._  
_  
_

* * *

**Thor**  
  
Human genitalia is fascinating. Thor’s interest in it is a bit of a perversion, but a mild one as such things went--worth no more than a raised eyebrow in the Asgardian court.  
  
Thor watches the small shaft of flesh--penis?--between Tony’s thighs swing, and wonders if it would be appropriate to touch it.  
  
Humans were so delicate and small--like the elves, but hairier. Most were too small to take the full length and width of Thor’s hamar inside of them with any eagerness, though Thor had found Jane both larger and more enthusiastic than her ancestors.  
  
“Might I touch him?” Thor requests of Natasha.  
  
She smiles, dark and mysterious as a Greater Goddess, and nods. Thor’s hamar twists, growing slick with arousal, the tips flicking eagerly at the fastened opening in the strange human clothing that Tony had gifted him. Thor’s tongue slides along his lip, echoing the movement.  
  
He reaches out, tracing gentle fingers over the bright red stripes that reach from the middle of Tony’s back down to the curve of his rear. Tony shudders, a low moan muffled in Natasha’s body. Thor marveled at the heat of Tony’s skin, far hotter than Jane. It had been centuries since he’d taken a human male--long enough ago to make it all seem new again.  
  
“You are lovely,” Thor tells Tony, entirely sincere. Steve shifts, sending a strange look Thor’s way, then returns to watching Natasha, a frown twisting his mouth. Thor refuses to be bothered by it--the ways of humans may be different, but the praise of one’s lover should be universal.  
  
Clint’s fingers work their way into the small opening at the base of Tony’s coccyx, stretching the hole out wide enough that Thor begins thinking that he could, indeed, fit inside. Clint drops the belt in his other hand and flicks open the buttons on his pants. His hand slides inside, wrapping around a penis much larger than the one between Tony`s legs.  
  
Thor’s hamar rises, leaving a slick trail along his skin as it seeks the narrow opening between the waistband of his trousers and his belly.

* * *

_ Tony remembers, suddenly, the reason he shouldn’t have fingers up his ass or his face buried in Natasha’s cooch, and that reason’s name is Pepper. They’re in a committed relationship between two adults, and he loves her. Like, a lot._  
  
_ Which means he’s cheating--he’s cheating on the woman he loves. Fuck. He’s a terrible person._  
  
_ Tony pulls his hands off Natasha’s inner thighs, sets them on the edge of the seat and pushes away from her, but she holds his head firm. Natasha doesn’t seem to care that he’s stopped licking and sucking at her, and she grinds up into his face, dragging her clit along the bridge of his nose as she makes tiny noises of pleasure._  
  
_ Tony pushes away again, but moving makes him dizzy, and she’s stronger than him, and pushing back sends the fingers deeper inside him. He’s too drunk to really feel them but there’s more than there were a second ago, he thinks.  
  
_

* * *

**Bruce**  
  
“Are you done with his mouth?” Bruce asks. He watches Clint work and thinks about sliding his dick into Tony’s slack mouth, of Tony’s nose brushing against his stomach and Bruce’s dick so deep that Tony couldn’t breathe.  
  
Natasha’s eyes find his, half-lidded and so very amused that he nearly takes it back. “Do you want him, Doctor?”  
  
He wants Tony to choke on his dick, wants to come in his mouth and make Tony drink his semen the way Tony had sucked down booze at the party. Scotch so expensive that the dollar value of one sip could feed a dozen families, and Tony guzzled it like cheap beer.  
  
So. Fucking. Wasteful.  
  
Bruce would make sure Tony didn’t waste a single drop. “Yes.”  
  
Natasha lets go of Tony’s hair and he shoves himself back so fast that he winds up sprawled across Clint’s lap, bending Clint’s fingers back in a way that could have sprained them. Tony was so damn careless. Bruce hates that about him.  
  
“Whoa, Tiger!” Clint laughs, unharmed by Tony’s flailing. He shifts, his hips rocking up, and Tony’s eyes go wide and confused, his mouth dropping open like an invitation.  
  
“What--?” Tony slurs, and Bruce honestly doesn’t give a shit what he has to say. His dick fits between Tony’s lips like it was made to be there, cutting off the rest of Tony’s sentence.  
  
Tony’s mouth is slack and wet, the shine of Natasha’s vaginal fluids on his lips, but Tony isn’t even trying.

* * *

_ Bruce’s cock is deep inside his throat, nearly setting off Tony’s long-deadened gag reflex, and Tony didn’t have a single fucking clue how or why it got there. Bruce’s hands are wrapped around the back of his head, and he pulls Tony forward until he can’t even breathe, but the worst part of it is that he thinks Bruce is angry, and Tony does not want Bruce to be angry._  
  
_ He’s got another cock up his ass and he thinks it’s Clint’s, but that doesn’t matter if Bruce is mad. Tony sets his hands on Bruce’s thighs, doesn’t think about Pepper and tries to figure out if the hint of green under Bruce’s skin is his imagination._  
  
_ He doesn’t think it’s his imagination._  
  
_ “You’re a slut, Tony,” Clint whispers into his ear. It’s true, Tony is, but he doesn’t think he deserves to be called one when he’s been so good and so faithful. It’s probably like falling off the wagon, one hit and you’re an addict again, one fuck and he’s a slut again, but he doesn’t want the label._  
  
_ Tony’s head spins and there’s definitely at least a hint of green in Bruce’s skin, and his lips ache from wrapping around his teeth, but he won’t risk angering him._  
  
_ Fuck, Pepper’s going to be so disappointed in him.  
  
_

* * *

**Clint**  
  
“Such a slut,” Clint breaths against Tony’s neck, and he’s watching Bruce fuck Tony’s mouth, watching Tony’s eyes gleam with tears as he fights down his gag reflex. Clint’s confused by how hot that is, but hell, Tony has the benefit of decades of experience. If he can’t make a blowjob look good, who can?  
  
Tony’s ass is too dry. Clint regrets not searching because it was Tony’s limo, and if anyone’s limo was going to stock lube in the Champagne bucket, it was Tony’s, but he figures that it’s too late now.  
  
Natasha, her knees spread wide and her hand three fingers deep inside her cunt, is watching. It’s familiar and reassuring and Clint smiles at her. He hooks his hands under Tony’s knees and lifts him, letting her see his cock disappear into Tony, and she beams at him. The change in angle buries his cock to the hilt in Tony, and the dryness stops mattering quite as much.  
  
Tony’s back is hot, raised pink welts from his belt radiating heat through Clint’s thin shirt, and his neck looks strained at the angle Bruce is holding him in, but Tony doesn’t make a peep, too busy sucking Bruce’s cock like a pro.  
  
“I wonder how soundproofed this thing is?” Clint asked, letting Tony drop one knee to the ground so he could scrape his nails along the welts over Tony’s ass.  
  
Tony made a muffled noise before Bruce pressed deeper into his mouth, in protest or liking it, Clint didn’t know which. His throat made wet little sucking sounds around Bruce’s cock, his hands grasping at Bruce’s hips to steady himself.

* * *

_ Bruce and Clint are the only things holding him up. The limo started moving at something slightly slower than a crawl, and it’s fucking up his balance something awful. Tony can think of four ways to fix that, and only two involve gyroscopes, but all of them need him to be sober enough to handle an arc-welder and for the limo to come to a full stop._  
  
_ Fingers dig into his scalp, tips hooking into the base of his skull, just on the edge of painful, right on the lip of threatening. Is Bruce angry? Tony can’t tell, and it sets him off-balance, makes the rough drag of Clint’s cock in and out of his ass unimportant. Tony can barely feel it anyway, his toes and fingers fumblingly numb, his skin picking up sensation a few seconds late. More important is not letting Bruce head over that edge._  
  
_ Clint’s hand reaches around Tony’s chest and presses over the arc-reactor, igniting senseless terror in Tony. Clint won’t steal it, Tony doesn’t think, but he’s too fucking scared to listen to that reasoning. He lets go of Bruces legs, tries to pry Clint’s hand off, but Clint is both stronger than him, and not drunk.  
  
_

* * *

**Bruce**  
  
Tony stops paying attention, too busy trying to redirect Clint’s hand down to his dick, so Bruce drags him down until Tony’s nose is pressed against his skin. Tony gags, choking, his throat slick and seizing around Bruce’s dick, and Bruce smiles.  
  
Tony’s eyes are staring up at him, tears streaking from the corners of his eyes into his hairline, and he struggles weakly, trying to pull off, trying to breath. Bruce doesn’t let him. Waits until Tony’s face is nearly purple from lack of air, and drool dripping from Tony’s lips coats Bruce’s balls, and enjoys every second of it.  
  
“You’re good at this,” he says, finally letting Tony slide back. Tony shakes and tries to catch his breath, frantic blasts of air that are cold on Bruce’s spit-slick shaft. Bruce lets him, satisfied with Tony just sucking on his dick. For now, anyway. Bruce fully intended to ejaculate so far down Tony’s throat that he’d have to choke to even taste it.  
  
“Thor?” Bruce has an idea. He doesn’t think that Tony will like it very much, but Tony’s mouth is a little too full for him to protest.  
  
**Thor**  
  
“Yes?” Thor blinked, tearing his gaze away from the point where Clint’s penis disappeared into Tony’s hole. It was oddly enthralling for such an alien act.  
  
“Why don’t you fuck Tony after Clint’s done?” Bruce suggests, a half-smile twisting his lips.  
  
Clint laughs, his hips jerking up. “Get some lube, and I bet you could join me.”  
  
“That is an excellent idea,” Natasha says, casually shrugging out of her dress. She wears fine white lace over her breasts and hips, pushed aside to expose her labia (Jane had instructed Thor at length on female human genitalia). “Perhaps you do not need lubricant. Tony enjoys himself, yes?”  
  
“You do not secrete such fluids?” Thor asked, honestly startled. “How strange.” He thinks, perhaps, that he remembers this. It is as strange now as it was then, though.  
  
There was a distinct pause, where the entire car turned to look at his hamar--even Steve, who had been keeping watch at the window. Thor met their gazes head on, unashamed. His hamar is of excellent size and flexibility, and his fluids well-praised by every...by almost every lover he’s ever had.  
  
Natasha smiled like a tigress and patted her hand on the lounge seat beside her. “Clint, bring him here.”

* * *

_ Bruce pulls away, and Tony shut his eyes against spurts of cum, but nothing lands on him. Instead Clint slides out of him too, pushing him toward the leather seating. He lets go of the arc reactor to do it, and Tony nearly collapsed in relief._  
  
_ They were done. It was over._  
  
_ Clint swatted his ass, and Tony crawled out of his way, looking for his pants. The ground rolled unpleasantly under him, and then it's Thor dragging him closer.  
  
_

* * *

  
  
**Pepper**  
  
She disengages the video when Tony is pinned between Bruce and Clint. She does not cry, scream, or curse Tony’s name. She will not lose him, not for this. Not for anything short of death.  
  
She cancels her morning meetings and dresses to the nines in her own brand of battle armor. Four inch heels feel like weapons, and Pepper is ready to fight and win this war.  
  
It takes an hour and a half for the limo to make it through rush hour traffic, and in that time, Pepper starts crying three times and reaches a new high score on Angry Birds. Kleenex appears by her elbow, discreetly placed by Javis via robot after she ruins her makeup the first time.  
  
She is Virginia Potts, and she is a fool in love.

* * *

_ When he walks (stumbles) through the door, a faintly iridescent stain forming between his legs, he knows immediately that she knows._  
  
_ Call him perceptive or psychic, but Pepper’s wearing her favorite thousand-dollar shoes with heels like graceful skyscrapers. He’d shown them to the architects who’d designed Stark Tower, told them “something like this” while meaning “something like her”. She wears those shoes when she’s at her best and when she’s at her worst; and her makeup might be flawless, but her eyes are red from crying._  
  
_ There aren’t any words to explain it, so he doesn’t try. He’s a slut, and she deserves better. Tony can only hope that she doesn’t want better, or that he can somehow become a better man between today and tomorrow. Or yesterday and today--a time machine could fix everything, and he’s got ideas on those.  
  
_

* * *

Pepper doesn’t ask why. She never asks questions that she doesn’t know the answers to. Instead, she heads straight to negotiations. “You slept with them.” Not an accusation, and not even true, because he damn well hadn’t slept, but Pepper puts it out there anyway. Delicacy will get her nowhere.  
  
Tony wobbles, then collapses into a chair across from her, looking like a man already broken. It hurts her to see him like that, and Pepper makes her decision. He is hers and she will keep him, no matter what it cost. “I’m not breaking up with you, Tony.”  
  
“You’re not?” his words were slurred with lack of sleep and alcohol, and it _kills_ Pepper to hear the fragile hope in them.  
  
“I’m not _happy_,” she snaps, letting the furious and hurting part of her heart out. Pepper softened immediately, the crushed expression on his face weakening her. “You cheated on me, Tony. I love you, and you _cheated_ on me.”  
  
“I did. I’m sorry.” Tony says, and Pepper hopes that his sincerity survives to sobriety. “I’m so _sorry_, Pepper.”  
  
She’s had a plan in place for this since the day she’d said yes when he’d asked her out. Pepper hadn’t been his assistant for nearly a decade without learning what kind of person Tony was. “But I love you. And I...I understand.” She bites her lip as that to keep from crying again. “I knew who you were before we started dating, and maybe it was too much to expect you to be loyal.”  
  
“I can do better,” Tony says, and he’s lying. He could build a machine to be better for him, but he will always be Tony Stark. Pepper loves him anyway.  
  
Pepper sighs. “Maybe you can, and maybe you can’t. But if you cannot, Tony, I’m not...we aren’t going to do it like this. I watched my parents marriage tear itself apart, and I won’t let the same thing happen to us.”  
  
Tony leans forward, and buries his face in his hands. She knows that his parents had been the same. It’d been something they’d both agreed on. “But you aren’t breaking up with me?” he asks, slightly muffled, more slurred.  
  
“No. We’re going to talk about this. And then you’re going to have a shower and go to bed, and I am going to go to work.” Pepper sets the agenda by habit, too used to wrangling him into responsibility not to.  
  
“Right.”  
  
“I’m not going to say that I don’t mind, because I do, and I’m not going to say that I want you to be discreet, because I don’t. If you’re going to cheat on me, I want to know. And if it’s going to be a regular thing, I want to meet him or her or them and--” Pepper falters, because she desperately doesn’t want him to have regular _anything_ but her. If she says that, though, he’ll just lie to her. “--I want to make sure that they deserve to have anything to do with you.”

* * *

_ He has never felt more like an awful human being._  
  
_ “Okay.” Tony looks up at her, and she’s beautiful and brave and trying not to cry. “I never want anyone but you. Never. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone. You’re...you.”_  
  
_ It’s not enough. It’s never going to be enough. Thor’s alien semen is leaking out of him even as he promises Pepper that he loves her, and Tony can taste Bruce on his mouth, smell Natasha on his clothes, feel Clint’s hands on his hips, and hear Steve breathing in his ear. He’s so drunk that he can barely sit up straight, and Pepper deserves so much better than him.  
  
_

* * *

“Don’t make me promises that you can’t keep, Tony.” Pepper takes his arm, helps him stand, and leads him to the ensuite bathroom. “Get cleaned up. We’ll talk again when you’re sober.”  
  
“Pepper--” Tony catches her hand as she goes, his eyes wide and unfocused. There were tear stains on his face and something on his chin that might be cum. “--Pepper, I didn’t want to. I didn’t.”  
  
Some part of Pepper freezes at that, thinks back to that scrap of video she’d caught, and wonders. The rest of her answers, “If you hadn’t wanted to, Tony, you wouldn’t have.”  
  
He flinches and looks away, and Pepper is satisfied.  



End file.
